Sarah snickered, but Ginger seemed annoyed.
Why did these women care so much about a model? He could be the hottest guy in the world, but if you couldn’t rely on him then what was the point?
A door in the back of the room squeaked open, and a familiar muscular, blond, strutted into the room. He wore a long green robe as if he were going to a boxing match.
My mouth dropped open. “What’s Troy doing here?”
Ginger eyed me before her gaze traveled over to Sarah’s shocked expression. “You know Troy?”
Closing my mouth, I turned toward Sarah. “So that’s why Troy always shoots out of the office right at five. He has a second job here.”
“Our model works at your firm?” Ginger asked.
Sarah’s eyes bulged like they were about to pop out of her head. “I’m not sure I can stay, and still go to work in the morning.”
“What’s the big deal?” I rolled my eyes, then strode over to say hello to Troy. “Hey.”
He gaped at me as if I had two heads. “Jill? W-What are you doing here?”
Why’d he look so dumbfounded? “Why does it surprise you that I’m here? I have a life outside of the office, you know.”
At least I was beginning to. . . .
Troy’s expression relaxed, and he touched my arm. “Sorry, just a little stunned to have you in class. But it’s cool.” He waved a hand. “I’m fine with it.”
My brows popped up. “I’m glad you’re fine with me painting.”
His face broke into a smile. “Are you an artist? How accurate is your ability?”
I shook my head. “I’m just here for fun. And to exercise the right side of my brain.”
He nodded. “It’s especially freeing after being cooped up with the law all day. So much stress, you know? This is a good way for me to unwind.”
“Art is good for the soul,” I repeated, like I believed it. It sounded like everyone had been relaxing in their down time, except me. “Up until I saw you in that robe, I thought we were drawing fruit.”
“No fruit here.” He gave her a slow smile and ran a hand through his thick blond hair. The sleeve of his robe fell back exposing the thick muscles of his bicep and shoulder.
“Keep in mind I’m a rookie,” I said, feeling out of sorts at not knowing the ropes. Plus, it didn’t look like he was wearing a shirt. I swallowed, hoping he was wearing shorts under there. “I’ll try my best to draw you accurately.”
Troy winked, and his grin widened. “You’d better.”
A feeling of terror came over me as I walked numbly back to my easel. Ginger stood with her hands behind her back, and Sarah was giving me a let’s-get-out-of-here look.
“Welcome everyone!” Patti stood in the center of the room. “Time to get started. Everybody have their charcoal? If not, there’s a box on my desk.”
Always an A-student, I hurried over to Patti’s desk to quickly grab my charcoal, so I wouldn’t miss any instruction. “Excuse me, Patti?”
Patti glanced my way. “What’s up?”
It felt like the entire class turned in my direction as well. “What do we use to pick up the sticks? Is there a holder or something, so I don’t get my fingers dirty?”
Several chuckles rippled around the room.
“Jill, right?” she said, reading off a piece of paper. “No holder. Just pick up the charcoal. Your fingers will get a little black, but it’s no biggie.”
“Got it.” My chin lifted, but it felt odd trying something new. I inhaled deeply, determined to relax in my downtime—even if it killed me.
Troy sidled up next to Patti, then dropped onto a barstool set smack in the center of the easels. He leaned back onto the stool, then lifted his eyes toward me in a way that had the hair on the back of my neck standing upright.
Patti appeared by my side. “Relax. Do you see black on my hands?” She wiggled her fingers in the air. “If you don’t find this a good fit, you might consider our print making class.”
I’d rather just stay in the courtroom. Trying a case in front of a jury was much less nerve-racking than this. “Thanks for the idea.”
“Class, be sure to pay careful attention to proportions.” Patti continued her instructions. “How big is the hand compared to the face? Are the eyes and nose appropriate distances apart?”
Sounded like math to me. Maybe I could get a handle on this. Deep breath, and chill.
Patti checked her watch. “We’ve got an hour and a half, then anyone who wants to share their work can do so at that time. Sound good?”
The class murmured affirmative remarks.
“Great, then let’s start.” Patti slipped out of the circle of easels. “Troy?”
Troy glanced at me one more time, then a smooth smile spread across his chiseled features as he untied his belt loop. He shrugged the green fabric off his shoulders, and the robe dropped away. Troy was naked. And staring directly at me.
No, this never happened in the courtroom.
I glanced at Sarah, who’d made a shocked mewing sound, and one distinct thought ran through my mind: I could be at home reviewing my cases right now.
Suddenly, something bubbled up inside of me, and I fought to control my laughter. My colleague was sitting in front of me without clothes on and I was supposed draw him. This was comical. Around me, the scratching of charcoal against paper filled the room with a rhythmic sound. Yes, I’d seen pictures of David, but I was no Michelangelo.
Patti put a hand on my arm. “You need help?”
I nodded slowly. What had Patti instructed? Proportions? Size? I wasn’t sure I could look at Troy there, let alone draw him.
Patti lifted my hand as it clutched the charcoal, and she brought it to the paper. “Just start with a light outline of the entire body.”
I took a deep breath, then slid the charcoal on the paper in quick strokes as instructed.
“Good.” Patti smiled, as she rubbed her chin. “Just sketch the outline of the forms and smudge them to create shadows. If you show shadow and light accurately, you’ll form the shapes. Make sense?”
“Okay,” I confirmed, then began outlining and smudging. I sketched and sketched, careful to focus on Troy’s face and chest, and avoid anything too far south. When our time was up, I stood back, put my hands on my hips, and admired my work. His chiseled face, hard pecks, and washboard abs hadn’t turned out half bad for my first try.
“What the . . .?” Ginger gaped at the smiley-faced pair of shorts I’d drawn on my model. “He wasn’t wearing those!”
“Creative license.” I shrugged, because I made my own rules.
Sarah and I doubled over with laughter. Only later did I realize that instead of pretending to have fun, I’d had a blast.
* * *
The next morning, I worked out at Totally Fit, then arrived to work promptly at eight—fired up and ready to plow through legal briefs. Sketching Troy had been a laborious activity. Along the same lines as that guy from Shawshank Redemption scraping his way out of jail with an old spoon. Probably no more art in my future, but it had been an interesting adventure.
I checked my voicemails, and had two from clients, then one from the Helping Homeless Project. Apparently the director of H.H.P. had heard about my donation to the Sacramento Children’s Home and that I’d expressed interest in doing more for my community. They were short on volunteers tonight for their dinner program, so I wrote down their name and number.
Hovered over my desk, I lifted my head as Sarah strode in and dropped a stack of mail in my in-box. “I’m still picturing the smiley-faced results of your artistic talent.”
I snickered. “Glad to entertain you. Did you go for drinks with Bud after?”
She nodded, then slipped into the chair in front of my desk. “He didn’t find the art class quite as amusing. He got kind of possessive, demanding I not go anymore.”
I grimaced. “Seriously? That’s not good.”
“I know.” Her eyes glazed over. “That’s why I broke it off with him. We h
ad fun, but I don’t need to be controlled over lame, petty things.”
My heart went out to her, but it was a smart move. “Need another girls’ night?”
Her expression lifted. “Definitely.”
Movement by the door caught my eye, and Ryan stepped in. “Do you have a few minutes?”
Sarah stood. “We’ll plan the details later. Good morning, Ryan.”
“Morning.” He eased around Sarah, pushed the door shut behind him, then came up to my desk. “I’m about to head to court, and I’ll be gone all day.”
I glanced at my watch. 8:25 a.m. He must have a nine o’clock appearance. “Is that the Peterson case? Hope it goes well.”
“Thanks.” He slipped his hands inside his pockets, looking like a GQ cover model in his suit and tie. “Have dinner with me tonight. I’ll make a seven o’clock reservation at The Melting Pot?”
My favorite fondue restaurant. Sarah and her meddling. . . “Thanks for the invitation, but I can’t.”
He turned his head slightly. “Tomorrow night?”
I lifted the Somerset file off my desk, and opened it. “Let’s just keep it to business. Unless you have a case you have questions on, I have a lot of work to do.”
His brows came together. “What’s going on, Jill?”
“Nothing.” I gestured to my file. “But my boss has requested more trivial memos for the Somerset case, so I’m bogged down with that.”
“Trivial?” His facial features darkened. “Do you honestly think I’d ask you to do something if it wasn’t necessary?”
I leaned back in my chair, squeezing my highlighter. “No, I think recording memos of every time the opposing attorney said no to settlement can be very helpful in resolving a case. In a reversed world.”
I hated my sarcastic tone, which was completely juvenile. But I’d do anything to avoid discussing what had happened between us. Plus, those tedious memos made me want to rip my hair out. Just saying.
He crossed his arms, and held a look of disbelief. “Those memos are important.”
I tapped my pen against the file. “In addition to documenting phone calls with the defense attorney, maybe you’d like me to create memos for each time Mrs. Somerset visited the restroom?”
His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “Why won’t you go out with me?”
Annoyed that I was impressed by his focus, I stood and started rearranging things on my desk, trying to calm my nerves. “I don’t have to explain myself.”
He checked his watch, then strode where I was. “Just tell me.”
My fists balled, because I so didn’t want to get my heart broken. “I’m not the girl for you.”
He stepped closer, his hazel eyes peering into mine in a way that had my tummy bouncing. “You’re wrong about that.”
Keeping my feelings in check, I sucked in a breath. “I’ve heard what you’re about, Ryan. I know this thing between us won’t last.”
Holding my gaze, he brushed my cheek gently. “I think we’d last a lifetime.”
My heart fluttered, wanting to believe him. What made me so special that he’d change his track record from bad boy to Mr. Dependable? “You do?”
“Yes. But I have to go, or I’ll be late.” He ran his thumb along my jaw line. “Go out with me tonight. We can talk more.”
Remembering my voicemail, I shook my head. “I’m serving dinner to the homeless tonight. There’s a program and they’re short on volunteers.”
He nodded. “Then tell them they’ll have two volunteers. I’m taking you out after.”
The corners of my mouth curved upward. “You’re very persistent.”
“When it comes to you, buttercup, I always will be.” He brushed his lips against mine, then hurried out the door.
* * *
We parked at the curb of a cul-de-sac where a long line of people had formed on the sidewalk. Sherri, the program director at H.H.P., shook my hand, and then Ryan’s. “I’m grateful for your help.” She smiled, and sounded sincere.
Ryan slipped his hand in mine. “We’re glad to be here.”
Sherri gestured toward an area in the front. “Bob can use you both at the burrito station. He’ll show you what to do.”
We nodded, then headed over to Bob as the line of people started to move.
Bob handed me a burrito, then gestured to several large boxes containing more. “We’ll give these out as the guests pass. Ryan, you stand after us and offer each person a napkin and bottled water once they’ve received their food. Sound good?”
I nodded. Bob’s energy bounced off him, and it felt contagious.
“Good evening.” Bob stood to my left and greeted an elderly man with gray whiskers. He handed out his first burrito.
“Now it’s a good evening.” The man appeared grateful to accept the burrito from Bob’s outstretched hand.
“Beautiful day. Isn’t it?” Bob greeted the next in line, a middle-aged woman.
“Any day I wake up is beautiful.” Her voice was hoarse, and her hair looked in dire need of a shampoo. “Bless you, sir.”
I wondered what this woman’s story was, and what more I could do to help her. Making a donation, and handing out burritos didn’t feel like enough.
Bob pulled the last of the burritos out of his box, then tossed the empty box aside.
“Good evening,” I said, then handed a burrito to a man who approached bringing along a Labrador-mix leashed using a tattered rope.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He patted his dog on the head as he stopped in front of me, then he gave part of his burrito to his pet.
Two teenage girls approached.
Shocked, I leaned toward Bob, and whispered. “Kids?”
“Probably runaways,” he replied in a hushed tone.
My heart went out to the young kids that passed by. They were only children for crying out loud.
“Good evening.” I handed a burrito to a brunette woman.
“Can I have one more of those? It’s for my daughter.” She pointed to a young girl sitting on the curb, who couldn’t have been more than three years old.
“Absolutely.” I handed the burrito for her daughter. I’d seen the news and knew that even young children were homeless, but it felt different witnessing the hungry children in person. It tugged at my soul, and I kept feeling like I needed to do more. “Here,” I said, giving the woman another burrito in case the child didn’t have breakfast tomorrow.
Bob greeted the next person with the same lively spirit he had when we’d first arrived, then he leaned toward me. “I know you mean well, but we should make sure there’s enough food for everybody before we pass out seconds.”
My eyes widened. “We might not have enough?”
Bob lifted a shoulder as he gave out another burrito. “We do the best we can, but we don’t always have the resources or manpower to make enough food.”
My stomach churned at the thought.
“Good evening.” I greeted a woman, who appeared to be my age. But instead of a designer suit, the woman wore a ragged white dress that was so filthy it looked brown with an occasional white speck. I felt an unspoken bond with her, knowing this could’ve been me under different circumstances.
The realization hit home, and it hit me hard. These people needed my help. More than a donation or serving dinner one night. I turned to find Ryan watching me, and we exchanged a look that made it seem like the same thing was rolling through his mind.
That we had to do something that would make a bigger impact. But, what?
Chapter Nine
I arrived at the office early Thursday morning, last night weighing heavily on my mind. Feeding the homeless had stirred all kinds of emotions in me, which Ryan and I discussed over dinner. The plan just wasn’t clear to me yet.
After reading numerous Internet articles, I clicked my mouse to print them out. My eyes skimmed an article on the various reasons people become homeless. Drugs. Abuse. Mental illness. Depression. In theory, once I knew the reason someone ha
d become homeless then logically I could work toward a solution to make them independent again. In practice, I wasn’t sure how it would pan out. But I was determined to try.
I needed to form a list to achieve that goal. Sigh.
My eyes flicked to my wrist. Time to hit the road. Today was the crucial San Francisco settlement meeting in the Somerset case. I pushed my print outs next to my keyboard, then pulled the Somerset folder from the filing cabinet.
A high whistle sounded in the doorway.
I glanced over my shoulder to where Sarah stood nodding in approval.
“Be still my heart, but someone went shopping.” Sarah stepped into my office, carrying a handful of mail, and eyed my new red heels with a look of approval. “Those look fantastic with your red blouse. New, too? They really spice up your black pants suit.”
My stomach danced. There was nothing better than a fashion compliment from Sarah Carlton. Especially considering I wanted to look cool and confident for my meeting with the vexatious Frank Wilson. “Thanks, Sarah.”
“There’s nothing urgent here.” She dropped the mail into my in-box. “I figure you probably won’t be able to get to it. Will you and Ryan be gone all day?”
“Yes, according to the email I got this morning.” It ticked me off that Ryan felt the need to come to the defense attorney’s office with me today. Why was he so possessive of this case? I checked my watch. If he didn’t come soon, I’d leave without him. “It starts at ten-thirty, so we should actually head out.”
“Think you’ll settle the case?”
“I doubt it.” I sighed. “The defense attorney’s being stubborn on this one.”
“Plaintiff’s husband died in a car accident. Defendant was convicted of a DUI. Seems pretty cut and dried to me.” Sarah put a hand on her hip. “They need to pay up.”
“No argument here. If I were on defense, I’d have settled this long ago.” I held my arms out. “What kind of attorney would choose to argue against an eighty-year-old woman who’d lost her husband to a drunk driver after fifty-two years of marriage? You’d have to have a blatant disregard for the law to side with defense.”
“Practicing your opening statement?” Ryan appeared in the doorway dressed in a black suit, with a blue tie.
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